


Secret Dreams

by elrhiarhodan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Prostitution, Slash, rentboy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 08:56:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3890239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve did things before the serum, and he refuses to be ashamed of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret Dreams

When Steve was little – and by little, he didn't mean when he was four or five – but when he was seventeen or eighteen, the time before the serum, he did things. With other men. Hand jobs got him a few dimes, a blow job was a dollar, and if he bent over an ashcan in an alley, he'd go home with a couple of bucks. Money that meant his mam didn't have to choose between going hungry and paying the rent.

Most of the time, he enjoyed himself. He didn't care if people thought that doing these things with other men was wrong or evil or disgusting. If he listened to the priest at Church on Sunday, even relations between a husband and wife were sinful if they weren't trying to make babies. And that was just wrong.

When his mam died and Bucky gave him a place to stay, Steve didn't have to go out and hustle the sailors and dockworkers and businessmen looking for a good time. But he did, anyway. It made him fell less lonely, less unworthy of such a one-sided friendship. The money still made a difference. He'd slip a couple of bucks into the jar with the housekeeping money, or he could go out and buy a beer and not need Bucky to pay all the time. 

Bucky never asked where he got the cash. Maybe he knew, maybe he just didn't want to embarrass Steve. Bucky was good like that.

Bucky was his friend. Always.

Now that Steve was big, he didn't hustle. He didn't have to. He had a regular paycheck from the Army and a place to sleep and plenty to eat. The girls hung all over him – taxi dancers wouldn't even take his ticket (but they would accept his tip), and the girls in the show were always trying to get into his dressing room. And there was Peggy – beautiful and smart and aloof – always there, at the edge of his vision. She was the dream, something to hold onto when the rest of his life seemed kind of meaningless.

But sometimes, in the middle of the night, alone in his bunk, his hard cock in his hand, he didn't dream of Peggy. He dreamed of the men who'd bent him over an ashcan in a dark Brooklyn alley, and they all looked like Bucky.

__

FIN


End file.
